The Illogically Unemotional
by tigerPatronus
Summary: Post-AGOS. Some spoilers, you have been warned! Madelyn has lived on the streets all her life. When she becomes involved in more ways than one with Mister Holmes, will he be able to show his feelings, let alone confront them? Holmes/OC. Reviews welcome!
1. Odd Goings On

**Author's Note**

**So yeah, hi, I started writing this almost immediately after I saw Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Still on a hardcore RDJ phase, but I'm not one of those girls who goes around writing "real life" fanfics and just throwing myself into his life unrealistically. No, I like to be more creative than that. So I created an OC based off of myself and worked her into the world of Sherlock Holmes (played by RDJ, of course). I hope you enjoy it, and there's another author's note at the bottom further explaining a few things in this chapter. OC/Holmes story. He may be out-of-character sometimes; I have a hard time writing him as exactly as he is in the films.**

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><p>It was the coldest winter in London since 1890 that year. It had only been three years since then, but snow caked the streets and buildings, muffling any sounds that could be heard (had there been anyone around to make them, that is). The citizens of the usual bustling city would leave their dwellings only when necessary, making the streets that would be normally crowded with horses, stagecoaches and pedestrians eerily empty. Those who were homeless had little chances of surviving the entire frigid winter, but Madelyn was not one of those extremely less-fortunate frozen corpses she would sometimes encounter during her daily fight for survival. Unlike the rest of her class, Madelyn sought shelter on rooftops instead of harbouring away in an alley on the ground where the cold air pooled. The snow coated everything since the first week of November and had no signs of melting before long. The mounds of snow on the rooftops she occupied were in such amounts that she could construct cave-like shelters daily, and were surprisingly well-insulated.<p>

Because of her status, she made her living, of course, by petty theft and scavenging; the latter being exploited much more often. Madelyn did not enjoy stealing from those better off than herself, but they were just that, and could obviously spare a bit of their wealth just for her to simply breathe another day. Having lived on rooftops for the majority of her teenage years (she managed to at last climb an entire building on her own when she was ten), she was vastly more agile and nimble than most women of her age.

Madelyn was orphaned at a very young age, and is not even entirely aware of how she became one. Her recollections of her parents were distorted and out-of-focus images. When she thought really hard about it, though, she could recall soft chanting of some sort of foreign language. She was even unaware of her surname and whether or not she had siblings or other relatives.

A man (referred to as Boss) who collected orphans for his own personal gain (raising them all as pick-pockets), took Madelyn under his wing when she was but three. Working in districts all over London, she had learned to pick-pocket flawlessly. But even as skilled as she was, she hated doing it for that greedy man. Over the ten years she worked under Boss, she saved a bit of her daily earnings for herself to make her escape for independency. This unfortunately did not go unnoticed by her "employer," and the night she attempted to escape with her savings, he assaulted her with a broken bottle (he was a terrible drunk, you see). This left her with quite an apparent crescent-shaped scar along the right side of her neck to her collar bone. She still managed to escape with her money, thankfully, but not without collateral damage.

She was approximately two decades of age now, and was trying to survive as best she could. Throughout her independent life she gained a surprising amount of street-sense and knowledge of things through ways known only to herself. Any person of higher-status would merely look at the girl and judge her from her exterior appearance and see only a dim, lowly beggar who lived parasitically off of the wealth of higher classes. But every day Madelyn acquired a newspaper that had been tossed out by a previous purchaser (she was luckily taught how to read by some of the older kids she worked with under Boss). One particular day, she scanned the headlines of the paper ("Search Continues for Professor and Detective") and after studying the pictures accompanying the headlines, she opened the newspaper to read the main article:

_ The search continues for the bodies of two men who attended a peace summit in Switzerland last week. It has been reported that Detective Sherlock Holmes, a quite famously known investigator, was working a case involving Professor James Moriarty, a renowned university scholar. Moriarty was involved in a massive plot to launch a world war, and in this process, would himself accrue a large sum of money. Holmes had apparently apprehended Moriarty at the peace summit, but in doing so, both men toppled over the railing overlooking Reichenbach Falls and fell below into the angry, churning waters. "Police are still searching for the bodies to the best of their ability," reports Inspector Lestrade, a frequent partner to the former detective, "but we can only do so much under these unique circumstances. Due to the duration of their missing statuses, we have no choice but to declare the two men to be dead."A funeral service is to be held in Sherlock Holmes' honor within the week..._

The article continued, but she had read enough. Madelyn sniffed lightly, partly due to the cold, and also out of feelings for the detective who had sacrificed himself to solidify the peace of the globe by ending the malicious professor. Madelyn was quite a fan of his work; she loved to read about how he managed to solve the most complex cases in virtually no time at all. She studied the granular sketch of the detective's image on the front of the paper (there weren't many pictures of the famous detective when the paper published stories of his cases, but for this special occasion, they had miraculously found quite a nice one).

Blinking rapidly, she composed herself and flipped to the crime section of the paper and became absorbed in the simple cases that filled the grimy page. After solving the last case in the paper within her head (a wealthy lord living in the suburbs of the northern part of London had reported his wife's jewelry to be missing, but the jewelry in fact had been given to their landscaper by the wife; the landscaper buried the jewelry in the gardens and they planned to run off together and use the acquired wealth from selling said jewelry to support their new life in Spain), Madelyn tossed the paper back into the trash and nimbly climbed her way back to the safety of her rooftops. The rest of her day was spent scrounging for food and constructing her next shelter (all the while keeping warm, of course). That night, something happened atop the roofs she unworriedly romped about that was nothing short of peculiar.

In the pitch dark of night, snow fell heavily as Madelyn lay curled tightly within her snowy haven. A few angry and disgruntled voices hissed loudly outside and awoke her from her attempted slumber in the sub-freezing temperatures. She crawled from within her nook and peered around in the darkness to the best of her human ability. It was extremely odd that someone besides herself or stray cats would be running around on the roofs of the current neighborhood she resided in. The residents of the houses of this neighborhood were too poor to afford chimney sweepers, so the rooftops were usually barren of humans. Three large dark figures darted from rooftop to rooftop until nearly out of sight.

Madelyn blinked quickly in time to see one figure hop onto a chimney that was belching smoke and peer down the smokestack while the others seemed to keep watch. Her heart thudded in her chest as an ominous atmosphere settled as the figures went about their shady affairs. Madelyn silently jumped atop the chimney she had been camping near (this one was not smoking) and watched the bizarre figures intensely. At her movement however, the figures keeping watch started and alerting the form atop the chimney with a sharp and piercing whistle, made swift departures, sprinting off and disappearing into further darkness.

Madelyn watched the form disappear in eerie silence as the snow fell around her shivering figure. She swiftly made her way to the vicinity where the small party of individuals had acted in suspicious ways. Closely analyzing the snowy roof around the chimney, she found three large sets of footprints, but not much else. Snow had begun to fall again, effectively silencing the night. Madelyn shrugged tiredly and after getting back to her campsite, crawled back into her refuge to await another morning.

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><p><strong>So I actually did some research for writing this as realistically believable as possible, making some minor adjustments. I'm fully aware that Sherlocks' "death" happens sometime in May (Wikipedia). But for the purpose of my plot, I adjusted it to happen in the dead of winter (I also looked up the weather for the winter of 1892-1894ish, and although London supposedly gets snow about 4-5 times annually between Nov and Jan, again I changed it for the purpose of my story).<strong>


	2. A Tragic Day

Early the next day, Madelyn made her way across the London rooftops toward Malborough Place, where she usually searched for food and could easily acquire the daily news. She dropped silently down in an alleyway and peered into the trashcans lining it. Quickly grabbing a few clean-looking scraps and consuming them, Madelyn made her way out onto the street. It was still below freezing in London, and there were only a few people out in the streets, making their ways to work or possibly running desperate errands. Spotting a trashcan across the street with several newspapers lining it, Madelyn darted across the icy street and plunged her hand into the discarded papers, extracting the current issue.

The main article was once again about the missing detective and professor, revealing a bit more of how Holmes had managed to unravel the scheme of the cunning Moriarty (as reported by Doctor John Watson, who happened to be Holmes' closest friend). The article also revealed the service of Holmes' funeral was to be held tomorrow, and only close friends were to be able to attend. The location of the service was not disclosed to the press, but Madelyn knew precisely where to go. It was not hard to derive that out of the many churches in London, the Westminster Abbey was the church closest to the final confrontation of Lord Blackwood, the case previous to the one concerning Moriarty (who coincidentally, made his presence known in the vicinity of the final confrontation of Blackwood and effectively instigated the case which brought about his own demise). It was actually quite a large church, and how they would manage to keep wind of this away from the press was beyond her.

She quickly grew tired of the crime section of the paper, as they were all too simple. Discarding the paper a second time, Madelyn jogged lightly back towards a building across the street and scaled it effortlessly. She decided to spend the night closer to the abbey Holmes' service was to take place, and began her long journey of roof-hopping to the southwest of London. She had no difficulty for a good thirty blocks, until she entered a wealthier neighborhood. A large crowd surrounded a particular house on Wellington Place, and Madelyn's curiosity was piqued. Lying down on the roof and peering down on the crowd, she listened carefully. She could hear sniffles and sobs as well as a few quiet voices.

"It's just s-so tragic," a woman stuttered as she held a handkerchief to her face, "the entire family…"

"They died in their sleep it seems." a man in a white uniform spoke kindly to the woman.

"Whatever the cause of their passing, they looked peaceful, so they mustn't have been in any pain when it…happened." He consoled the woman best he could.

Madelyn observed several stretchers lying beside a white carriage, all of which were covered with white cloth. There were two adult-sized figures on two stretchers that were side-by-side, and three more stretchers that followed had figures much smaller underneath the sheets. It was indeed an upsetting sight, to see an entire family (and a wealthy one at that), die within the night, especially during a time so cold and unforgiving. After reviewing the scene before her, she concluded the upset woman was a maid at the household of the deceased (who lived off-site due to the adornment of a traveling coat). Standing back up, she brushed off the snow on her front and turned to leave. But a loud, angry voice called out behind her.

"Oi! Who in the bloody hell is that? What is she doin' up there?"

A man from the crowd below had spotted her, alerting the entire mass of people to her presence. Several gasps and cries of outrage echoed from around the man. Madelyn turned quickly to leave, as the voices grew louder and angrier. She could only assume that the people thought she had something to do with the deaths of the family, so she hastily departed to avoid a confrontation for something she did not have anything to do with. After she had gained some distance from the yelling throng of concerned citizens, she slowed her pace and leisurely kicked snow up as she went. Skidding suddenly in the icy snow, she slid ungracefully into a chimney and let out a grunt as the air was knocked from her chest and her head thumped against the cold brick. Coughing and panting, she climbed back to her feet, slipping slightly in doing so, and looked around to make sure no one had seen such clumsiness. Satisfied that no one saw her, she glanced over the edge of the roof, seeing that the house she stood upon was in fact 221B Baker Street. Something stirred in her memory about the address, but her little collision with the chimney had her feeling rather scrambled. Shrugging lightly and rubbing her head, she continued on past 221B. Her stomach growled loudly as she walked across a rooftop on Melcombe St. Sighing loudly, she climbed down the building and walked calmly on the sidewalk.

"It's much busier down here." Madelyn commented to herself, observing a much higher number of pedestrians the farther south she travelled.

She knew that today she would have to pick-pocket to earn a meal for herself, and frowned in discontentment. She successfully lifted change from a few pockets, and nodded to herself when she gathered enough for a decent amount of food. As she made her way to a bakery on the block, a man in a patchy-grey cloak and a tan hat pulled down over his face roughly bumped into her shoulder and attempted to lift the money she had recently collected from her pocket. She rolled her eyes and clenching her jaw in frustration, executed her signature maneuver to return the money back to her own pocket. Grinning in satisfaction, she continued to walk towards the bakery as if nothing had happened.

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><p><strong>Short chapter, I know. Sorry if I sound repetitive sometimes, it's hard replacing such common words as 'rooftop' or 'quietly' without the phrasing sound weird.<strong>


	3. Bound to Be Astounded

Sherlock Holmes was thoroughly enjoying his time as of late, since he was declared dead. It didn't bother him much; he would reveal himself to be alive in due time, which would only boost his ego as everyone marveled at how he could have survived. It was no easy task to swim in the freezing water he had plunged into (or warming back up after exiting said waters), but thankfully he had swiped the breathing apparatus his brother had _so_ selfishly told him not to use.

For now, he was "practicing" his masterful disguising techniques and living as multiple personalities in the wintery city. Some days he would present himself as dapper and snobbish as a spoiled first-class citizen (the latter quality being much too easy for him), and pass as a respectable gentleman, complete with an artificial and well-groomed moustache. Other days he would dress in rags and heavy, dirty looking coats that would earn sneers and scoffs as he performed his beggar charade. He thought once or twice about attempting to imitate the fairer gender, but ultimately decided against it as he recalled his recent train escapade.

Eventually though, Holmes began to grow bored with just playing dress-up to pass his days. He read early one morning in a discarded newspaper that his funeral ceremony was to be held the next day. He knew he shouldn't be anywhere near it, but his ego got the better of him and desired to know how people felt about his "absence" from the world. He was currently hanging about on the corner of Melcombe and Baker St wearing his extremely convincing beggar costume, just to see if he could spot Watson or Mary. As he loitered on the street corner, he spotted a young woman descending from the top of a building. He quirked his eyebrows in mild-fascination and watched her closely as she walked nonchalantly on the sidewalk. He recognized that kind of behavior immediately and could tell that she was pick-pocketing. He smirked mischievously and decided to try and steal the money she had already stolen. It would be quite an amusing game for him to pass the time.

Walking quickly, he made his way straight for the supposedly unsuspecting woman, pulling his hat lower to cover his face and wrapped his large cloak tighter around himself. He bumped roughly into her and performed his thievery with what he believed was perfect execution. As he continued to walk away, however, he failed to notice the woman discreetly take back what she had earned in an impressive manner. He rounded the corner and into a secluded alleyway to see how much she had managed to steal before he came along. But to his great surprise, the money he thought he had lifted from her person was not securely within his pocket. Blinking rapidly he puzzled as to how _he_, Sherlock Holmes, had been out-pick-pocketed, and by a woman, no less! He furrowed his brows in frustration and turned to go back and follow his new fascination.

Feeling quite smug, Madelyn strolled confidently into the bakery and purchased a delicious, fresh loaf of bread and with the leftover money, bought herself a sweet treat. She ate it as quickly as she could while still savoring the flavors, and tucking the loaf of bread into the messenger bag at her hip, trotted into the alley behind the bakery to ascend a neighboring building by use of a fire escape. She then regained her position and continued her trek to the Westminster Abbey.

Holmes caught sight of her exiting a bakery, munching on a treat she bought with her pilfered money. He glared lightly at her and followed her slowly. After she tucked a loaf of bread into her bag, she suddenly broke into a trot and quickly slipped into an alleyway out of his sight. Running quickly to catch up, he rounded the corner in time to see her finish climbing a fire escape and stroll away on the rooftops. Holmes grinned, he knew he could follow her easily up on the roof, but because people seldom were on the roofs of the neighborhood, save for chimney sweepers of course, he would be discovered quite quickly. So, traveling on foot at ground level would present a challenge for him. He liked challenges.

"_This has turned out to be a rather exciting day."_ Holmes mused in his head.

Madelyn was briskly walking on the snowy rooftop as she glanced back over her shoulder. She had a nagging feeling that someone was trailing her. She picked up her pace and sprinted across the roof and leapt to the next one. Continuing directly south from the bakery, she could spot the tall steeple of the Westminster Abbey. Madelyn smiled; traveling would be a bit easier with a landmark to keep her on track.

Madelyn was making pretty good time, because by the time the sun began to set (behind the mask of clouds that had formed and were currently dumping snow), she was less than ten blocks away from the abbey. She was thoroughly exhausted and very hungry at the near end of her journey and wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, but she had yet to construct her snow shelter. Grudgingly, she began digging and packing snow up in a cave shape against a chimney.

About forty minutes later, Madelyn had completed her shelter much to her delight. She dragged herself into the shelter, and pulled the loaf of bread from her shoulder bag. Breaking off about a quarter of the loaf, she munched on it greedily, shivering slightly as she peered out at the darkness around her shelter. She drifted off into a dreamless and cold sleep as the wind began to stir (much to her dislike).

Holmes tailed the girl for quite a while, and he marveled at her stamina for traveling on the rooftops. However, when the sky began to darken and snow began to fall, tracking her became much more difficult. He sighed.

"_I suppose I could climb to the rooftops now."_ He pondered in his head.

Tossing his hat aside, he climbed onto a trashcan to reach a fire escape ladder. After reaching the top, he scanned the area and contemplated on the direction she could have been heading. After considering the direction he had been heading for the last few hours and the landmark that lay in plain sight further in his path, he theorized that she was heading towards Westminster Abbey.

Treading lightly, he analyzed the snow around him and spotted a set of footprints that he knew belonged to the girl. He smirked and began to follow the footprints, but he had to move quickly as snow was falling heavily and was covering her tracks. After a few more blocks, her tracks had all but disappeared in the fresh layer of snow. Holmes could see they continued to the next building, but unfortunately the trail seemed to end there. A glacial breeze swept across the city that penetrated straight through even Holmes' multiple layers of clothes. He brushed the dusting of snow that accumulated on his shoulders off and ran his numb hands through his wet hair.

He was suddenly struck by how silly he was acting. He was following a homeless beggar woman just because she had outwitted him. Although, there were not many people that could outwit him, the exception being _that woman_. Holmes was hit with a sudden pang of grief for his departed muse, silently cursing Moriarty's immortal soul for his cruelty.

Wading through the snow he crossed the building and looked around carefully before deciding to cross to the next building. Then, he spotted an odd mound of snow piled up against the chimney of the subsequent building. He raised his eyebrows as he felt a small jolt of adrenaline course through his body. Quietly hopping over the rift between the buildings, he approached the mound with absolute stealth.

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><p><strong>Oh, Sherly. Y ur personality so hard to write?<strong>

**Trying to make the story believable is hard work. Streets and buildings and complicated terrain…I know that in the films, a lot of the roofs are slanted pretty steeply. I'll probably go back and edit that later, but for now and the sake of simplicity and laziness, roofs are gonna be flat.**


	4. Awake Are We?

_ Madelyn was running. Snow whipped past her, each flake slicing small cuts through the layers of clothes she wore and across her frost-bitten face. Someone, or something, was chasing her. She was blindly running across the snowy rooftops of London. Black, smoky figures began rising from the chimneys all around her, shrieking and thrusting their arms out to grab her. Terrified, she dodged the dagger-like fingers clawing at her and leapt over the crevice between two buildings. But as she leapt, the fissure became larger and larger, and Madelyn began to fall. Glancing behind herself towards the ground rushing up towards her, the snowy ground suddenly erupted with red-hot columns of fire and smoke. The smoke and fire swirled and twisted into an angry, dirty face, creased with lines of exhaustion and anguish. His eyes flashed in a bright blue flame, searing the most intense emotions of regret and sorrow into Madelyn. She writhed in pain and clenched her eyes shut to stop the stream of emotions bombarding her mind. When she opened her eyes again, the flaming smoke had vanished, and Madelyn continued to fall. She turned in midair and watched helplessly as the ground rushed up to meet her body…_

Jolting awake with a gasp, Madelyn sat bolt upright panting heavily and sweating profusely despite the bitter temperatures. The sun was barely rising, and as she looked around, she was surprised to find a large overcoat that did not belong to her, covering her slender frame. Recognizing the overcoat as the exact same patchy-grey one worn by the man who had bumped her roughly the previous day, she blinked confusedly and her eyes widened as she spotted a second cave structure (which was currently empty) just around the corner of the chimney she was camping at. Madelyn quickly crawled out of her shelter and stood up, scanning the rooftops (which were caked with a brand new layer of snow, giving a total accumulation of about two feet). The sky was clear and the air was crisp with the clean icy fragrance of new snow.

"Ah, awake are we?" a husky voice sounded from behind her. Madelyn flinched and spun swiftly around to face the person that had spoken.

In the darkness, Holmes approached the snowy cavern and peered cautiously into it. Sure enough, there inside the small refuge, curled up tightly, lay the woman who he had encountered earlier in the day. Her ebony locks curled somewhat chaotically over her pale face. Her face was lightly freckled across the bridge of her nose, and her thick eyelashes were delicately covered with the icy crystals that were still dropping from the clouds. Her expression was relaxed and peaceful even as she slept in less than favorable conditions. Holmes observed her closely, picking out features and breaking them down with his intellectual process. He could not gather much from her raggedy clothing (which were dirtied with all manners of earth from different regions of the large city), and because she was covered heavily, his examination of this curious woman was cut short. Holmes couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something awfully familiar about her. Pursing his lips in contemplation, he finally decided to construct a snowy shelter analogous to hers for the night.

After successfully building his lodgings, he sat within it and watched the snow fall. His eyelids began to fail him and he nodded off just after Big Ben struck three in the morning. He slept soundly for about two hours, but was awoken by soft, muffled groans emanating from the girl's cove. Sitting up and yawning, he furrowed his brows and watched her twitch faintly and whimper softly through the navy scarf (or what was left of it) wrapped around her neck and mouth. She began to shiver violently, and though Holmes barely knew her, he could not help but sympathize with her. She looked hardly over twenty, but had obviously been exposed to the elements for basically that entire length of time. He sighed and removed his large grey patchy overcoat and laid it over her shivering form. He then perched himself atop the chimney after clearing most of the snow from the ledge, and pulling his small brown pipe from his pocket, lit the tobacco with the matches in his inner pocket and inhaled deeply. The smoke billowed out of his mouth and nose in light, wispy grey clouds that dissipated into the crisp morning air.

The sun was just beginning to rise, and hearing a sudden gasp, realized that the woman had roused violently as she panted heavily from under the snowy dome. He smiled slyly as he continued to smoke from his pipe and watched as she scrambled out of her shelter to look around, gripping his coat tightly in her thin hands.

"Ah, awake are we?" Holmes stated matter-of-factly.

She spun around in surprise as he hopped down from his seat atop the chimney. She stared at him with wide eyes and cautiously backed away, dropping his coat in the snow. He chuckled knowingly and shook his head, inhaling again on his pipe.

"Now, now, there's no need for caution. I assure you madam that I mean you no harm." More smoke poured from his mouth and sticking his nose in the air, he looked her up and down, now that she stood at full height.

Her deep chocolate eyes that were flecked with infinitesimal slivers of gold contrasted her pale-white skin but complimented her dark locks quite nicely. Holmes concluded that her eyes had nothing to do with his strange feeling of familiarity toward the girl, as he had never quite seen eyes like hers. Facing him and standing as tall as she could, she measured about five foot six and despite the bulky clothes covering her, he could see her feminine figure shone through quite pleasantly (he inwardly scolded himself for even taking note of such things).

She narrowed her eyes for a split second and analyzed the man that had confronted her. He was only a few inches taller than her, approximately five foot ten. It seems he hadn't shaved in a while and the scruff on his chin added to his apparent charm (and homeless appearance). His brown tresses were unkemptly slicked backwards and curled wildly around his face. He was dressed in a similar manner as she was, with many layers of clothes that were quite filthy from the elements despite the clean snow that surrounded them. She glanced back at his face and was struck with a sudden and enormous realization. Smirking inwardly, Madelyn crossed her arms across her chest.

"Well that's quite obvious. Had you intended to harm me you would have already done so, instead of joining me in my camp in the snow." she stated defiantly at his arrogant posture.

"And how does a young lady such as yourself come to live on the rooftops during such harsh conditions?" he raised his eyebrow at her smart response and puffed smoke from his nose.

"I could ask you the same question, _sir_." She turned back towards her shelter and picked up her messenger bag.

Slinging it over her shoulder, she tossed her hair out of her face and looked back at him through her lashes. Holmes smirked and he picked up his coat that had fallen to the ground and dusted the residual snow off.

"Oh, that's quite a long story. The details are unimportant and unrelated to this conversation." He felt no real danger in failing to keep up his charade of a dim-witted beggar.

From what he'd experienced and witnessed in following her, there was no need.

"Mmm, but I think they might interest me, Mister Holmes. Wouldn't you be so kind as to enlighten me?" Madelyn stretched indifferently and pulled her loaf of bread out of the bag, breaking off two pieces and offering one to the man that stood momentarily dumb-struck before her.

Accepting the piece of bread, Sherlock quickly recovered from his state of astonishment.

"You are a most observant woman. My disguises are of practically perfect condition." Holmes proudly put his coat back on and convincingly arranged his garments in a manner that strongly conveyed a poverty-stricken status.

Madelyn laughed sweetly.

"Such big talk. Then again, your skills and intelligence have yet to be matched." Putting the remains of her bread back into her pouch, she continued.

"Oh, wait. My mistake. They have. At least partially," she referred to the pick-pocketing incident that had occurred the previous day.

Holmes scoffed and retorted.

"Well, I admit I may not be on my best performance lately. Undernourishment, I think, is to blame." Madelyn sucked in a small breath of air sharply through her teeth.

"Oh, that's right. You're supposed to be deceased. Well, all things considered, you're doing spectacularly well for a dead man." Holmes nodded thoughtfully.

"So, you've been reading the papers. Now tell me, why is it you are heading towards Westminster Abbey?" he asked, testing her response.

Madelyn clicked her tongue thrice in a scolding manner.

"Mister Holmes, if you are clever enough to know I read the newspaper, you are certainly clever enough to know why I am travelling there. I'm afraid I must answer your a question with another. Why is it you have been following me all this way?" She pointed out smartly.

Jutting his lower jaw forward slightly and motioned to take his pipe from his mouth, he replied.

"Very well. It's quite obvious that you are heading towards the largest chapel in London for my funeral. And if you must know, I have followed you due to the," he cleared his throat loudly, "curious manner by which you travel. In all my days, I have not until this day, seen anyone, homeless or not, scale buildings and leap from rooftop to rooftop as you do. Obviously I am excluding chimney sweepers because that is merely a career choice, not a lifestyle. "

Madelyn raised her eyebrow questioningly.

"You are not telling the truth entirely, Mister Holmes. If one makes an attempt to touch their face during a false statement, it is an indication that one is nervously avoiding the truth. So please, carry on with your explanation." Huffily, Sherlock continued.

"And I _suppose_ how you out-maneuvered my attempted thievery yesterday could have something to do with it, if you _must_ know." He bit into the loaf of bread and begrudgingly chewed it.

Madelyn nodded, satisfied with his answer.

"Well, as much as I would love to stay and chat, I am afraid if I do not move on soon, I'll miss crashing your funeral service." She turned swiftly and demolished her snowy dome in one kick.

Turning her head to look at the detective over her shoulder, she winked endearingly at him and took off running and jumped to the next roof.

"Unless you'd like to join me, I would very much like to know your story of cheating death." She called back over her shoulder, jogging towards the next gap between buildings.

Groaning in mild frustration, Sherlock ate the rest of this bread and pocketing his pipe, jogged quickly after the girl. Quickly catching up with her, he grabbed the strap of her pouch, effectively bringing her to a sudden halt.

"Wait just a moment you she-thief. I first of all would like to know your name. And secondly, I think it's a right proper idea to continue our journey at ground-level. Not a lot of rooftops lead directly up to the abbey. Actually, there aren't any to my knowledge." He stated flatly.

Blowing her bangs out of her face from her abrupt halting, she resentfully nodded.

"Well, I suppose… but I much rather prefer the safety of rooftops..." She mumbled reluctantly.

They both descended the building and once on solid ground, Holmes stepped out onto the snowy sidewalk and inhaled deeply in contentment. Madelyn was reluctant to emerge from the alley and hesitated. The sidewalks and streets were far more crowded than where she was used to roaming, and it made her very nervous (much to her embarrassment). Sherlock tilted his head at her sudden guardedness.

"Come, come, now, darling. We haven't got all day." He offered the crook of his elbow to her as an escort and waited.

Somewhat wary of his offer, Madelyn breathed deeply and gathering her courage, stepped out of the alley, shyly ignoring Holmes' arm. Holmes shrugged and, walking side-by-side with her, Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets and strolled pleasantly in the winter weather.

"The name's Madelyn, by the way." Madelyn added as they became ever closer to the grand abbey.

"Hm. That's a lovely French name. And your surname?" Holmes pried, taking his unlit pipe out of his pocket again just to have in his mouth.

Madelyn cast her eyes downward at her feet that continued to plunge into the powdery snow as they strolled.

"I'm not sure of my surname. The only other names I've been given in my life are the most demeaning of pet-names such as _sweetheart_ or _princess_ or _baby doll_." Wrinkling her nose, Madelyn's demeanor became suddenly darker.

"But I digress…" Madelyn finished quickly, trying to change the subject.

Surprised, Sherlock raised his eyebrows and studied her face carefully. He was most certainly never one to succumb to emotions, as they clouded his judgment and complicated things infinitely more. He couldn't help it if people didn't understand his theories regarding emotions, but to him, they were just…illogical.

They continued on in silence, entering a park that on the other side lay the Westminster Abbey. The park was nearly empty, compared to the streets around it, beholding spectacularly pristine and smooth rolling hills of snowy scenery. The barren trees lining the pathway were festooned with the same clean snow, balancing carefully on the skeletal branches. Madelyn sighed quietly, admiring the short-lived beauty of snow. The sun had begun to peek out behind the dissipating clouds in the sky, casting God-rays through the park and igniting the ground in a bright, glittering display. Holmes pulled out a pair of small, round darkened spectacles from an inner pocket of his coat and put them on, shielding his eyes from the snow-blindness he was beginning to experience as the sun made its appearance.

Madelyn glanced cautiously up at the detective, noting the dark circles underneath his eyes and the excessive scruff upon his chin indicated he hadn't shaved in approximately close to two weeks. There were sporadic clumps of small cuts on his cheeks and forehead, but were close to being healed. She had to admit he was exceptionally handsome even with his unkempt appearance (she personally thought it gave him a bit of a devil-may-care quality that was very nearly impossible to resist). The lines that emerged on his face through different facial expressions gave him a unique countenance that Madelyn was quickly growing fond of.

Sherlock glimpsed sideways at the woman and caught her analyzing him quite closely. The corners of his lips quirked up for an instant, amused at her enthrallment with him.

"You know, it is not polite to stare. Is there something on my face?" He stated with a hint of mock-uncouthness in his voice.

Madelyn blushed slightly, being caught in the act of admiring him.

"No, there's nothing on your face aside from an excessive amount of facial hair, healthy amount dirt, and various scratches. How long has it been since you last appeared presentable to the public of higher-class?" she chided sweetly.

"Well, I believe it was just two days ago that I performed as a first-class gentleman. Though, I suppose I have not properly groomed myself since shortly after my supposed death, about two fortnights ago." He replied in a straight-forward manner, very much out of his character.

He was a little startled at how easily he could hold a civil conversation with her. But he presumed that if conversations with her were this pleasant, arguments with her would be more entertaining than ever.

"Speaking of your near-death experience, would you be willing to indulge me with your miraculous escape?" she looked up at him pleadingly with her unusually dark brown, almost black eyes that were flecked with gold.

He marveled at the remarkable color of her eyes and was lost momentarily in them, without deducting their explanation due to genetics. Blinking promptly, he recovered from his inexplicable distraction and recounted the tale of surviving the rapids...

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah. Sherlock's mannerisms are hard to duplicate. I don't really know where the funeral was held in the movie, so I made it up (it's called fiction for a reason). So, really…simple and kinda dumb explanation for the location.<strong>


	5. Up The River

As he and Moriarty fell to certain death, Holmes closed his eyes and willed his body to relax entirely. The more relaxed his muscles, the less severe the impact with the water below would be. Moriarty was too surprised and panicked to do the same. Both men hit the water nearly simultaneously and plunged violently into the freezing waters beneath Reichenbach Falls. The utter shock of the cold induced Holmes' body to involuntarily gasp, sucking in a mouthful of water. Quickly pulling the breathing apparatus from his cloak's pocket, he stuck the mouthpiece shakily into his mouth and greedily inhaled the oxygen it supplied. He breathed erratically as he paddled for the surface. The waters churned and tossed him around brutally, and by the time he was able to breech the surface, he was thoroughly exhausted. He was thrown unceremoniously into rocks, and he winced in pain as he was battered in the icy turmoil (his injured shoulder was not helping in the slightest). But as exhausted as he was, he had to continue to fight the waters to regain control and exit the water as soon as possible.

Finally, after what seemed like eternities, the raging waters quieted to a gentle, but swift flow. Holmes was completely drained of warmth and energy, and simply floated on his back in a daze, staring up at the black, starlit sky. Sleep was threatening to overtake him (falling asleep in water is clearly a bad idea), so he used the last of his energy to swim slowly to shore and drag himself just barely out of the water. Utterly depleted of heat and vigor, Holmes succumbed to a cold sleep.

When he awoke later, he was in a quaint, warm home in a little town to the northwest of Meiringen, Switzerland having floated a little ways down the Aar River. Meiringen was the town that lay in the valley at the base of a region of the Alps where the peace summit was held. He was covered in many cuts and bruises, and his entire body ached with every slight movement. A family had found him unconscious on the shore of a river that flowed past the town, emptying itself from its origins higher in the mountains. They housed him until he had energy and strength enough to travel and make his way back home to London. He traveled by means of both train and boat over the course of two weeks through Switzerland and France, finally getting back to the familiar streets of London that he welcomed quite warmly (although he managed just fine in France because of his fluentness in French).

After regaling his tale of near fatal experiences, Madelyn could only walk on in silence, eyes wide with only her imagination to envision the suffering and hardships of his life in the past month (he had since been in London for two weeks after his return from Switzerland).

"Wow. And I thought _I_ lead an exciting life…" Madelyn said aloud mostly to herself.

Her brows furrowed in extreme concern for the man who stood beside her.

"How extensive were your injuries after…surviving that fall?" She asked, turning to face him a little more.

"Two broken and three fractured ribs, a few good bangs to the head and plenty of cuts and bruises." Holmes answered as calmly as though he were commenting on the weather.

"Though quite a few of the cuts and bruises are from my prior adventures to that grand finale." He stroked his chin thoughtfully, and removed the pipe from his mouth.

"I have to say I'm quite surprised you don't have more scars from all those perilous cases. Are you even human?" Madelyn joked lightly, referring to his impeccable healing abilities.

This seemed to have struck a nerve, for his response came rather harshly.

"Of course I'm human, don't be so daft, girl. Although you're bright for a destitute woman, that question was indisputably absurd." He snapped defensively.

Shocked and mildly hurt by his callous remark, Madelyn became immediately silent and spoke nothing else as they exited the park and walked a few blocks to the west, where the Westminster Abbey loomed ahead across Parliament Square.

Sherlock hadn't meant to snap at the young woman beside him, and was himself surprised he had reacted so austerely. Looking down at the quietly injured girl, his emotions roiled within his head and heart. She reminded him so much of his dear Irene, and he knew no one could replace her. But somehow, this new and peculiar creature was captivating him and filling the void he felt had hollowed his chest when he learnt of Irene's murder. Steeling himself quickly against the emotions interfering with his actions, he evaluated the possible entrances they could use to infiltrate the abbey.

"I'd wager that the ceremony will be held in the chapter house of the abbey." Madelyn remarked in a monotone voice.

"It's large enough to house at least fifty people, but it's secluded and difficult to enter discretely so as to avoid drawing attention to the public." She continued.

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"The fact that there is only one entrance to that particular chamber of the abbey makes it quite improbable for me to enter without being recognized." Holmes noted, his voice dripping with defeat.

Madelyn cast her eyes on the detective as he spoke and could almost visually see his ego deflate by the pure disappointment on his face. Despite her slightly wounded feelings, she wanted to see this man happy. Sighing gently, she placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder.

"You know, I'm sure the acoustics in the chapter house are quite good. We could simply be in a room adjacent to the large chamber and still hear the entire ceremony. I'm sure your eulogy will be very…reminiscently poignant." She said, choosing her words carefully.

Holmes' face brightened instantaneously, and he smirked triumphantly at the brilliant girl. Madelyn smiled coyly back at him.

"You are positively ingenious, madam. Why I did not think of that in the first place is beyond me. And that is really saying something." He said quite proudly.

Madelyn could see his ego begin to inflate once again and rolled her eyes subtly. Without hesitation, Holmes grabbed her hand and led her towards the large and holy building. His hand was warm and enveloped her dainty hand almost entirely. They were a bit rough and calloused, but Madelyn made no complaints.

"We won't have any trouble getting into the abbey itself, but I'm sure there will be greater security the closer we get to the chapter house. Once we get in, all we need to do is find a secluded and quiet room in the vicinity of the chamber." He strategized aloud.

"The Poet's Corner or the Pyx Chapel would do nicely." She contributed.

After they entered the abbey with no difficulties, Holmes decided that the Pyx Chapel was the more opportune choice to eavesdrop on the funeral. He was concerned, however, that someone might notice him once they got close to the chapter house and regretted discarding his hat the other day. Madelyn seemed to sense his dilemma and removed the navy scarf from her neck. He accepted the scarf gratefully and quickly fashioned it atop his head to cover his recognizable locks. The abbey was indeed more crowded the closer they got to the room where his service was to be held and Holmes recognized many of the attendees.

They found the Pyx Chamber easily and settled into the empty, arch-filled stone room. Only a few windows allowed sunlight into the shadowed room, and the rays that found their way into it were clouded with dust. The room was very beautiful in its own ancient architectural way. Holmes and Madelyn sat together on the floor in a corner of the room near the door that was bathed in sunlight. Madelyn closed her eyes and smiled as she enjoyed the warm rays of sun that washed over her face like waves on a beach.

Holmes watched her take pleasure in the simplicity of sun during a cold spell in the weather as he lit his pipe and smoked idly, waiting to hear the ceremony reverberate through the room. The two sat in silence and Madelyn watched Sherlock blow smoke rings while they waited. Just moments after his pipe extinguished itself and Big Ben struck ten o' clock in the morning, a voice echoed through the room. The ceremony had begun.

The calming voice of a man floated through the air as the start of the service pertained to the generic speech of why they had all gathered ("we are gathered here today in memory of Sherlock Holmes…"). The speaker went on for a good, long while, recounting important cases and significant points in his life (as recorded by the press, leaving significant details of his personality out). Madelyn glanced sideways at Sherlock, who had closed his eyes either to listen more intently, or he may have fallen asleep out of disinterest. She shook her head gently, marveling at what it must take to trigger this man's ego.

At one point, the speaker stepped down to allow Inspector Lestrade to say a few words in Holmes' honor. Sherlock continued to sit with his eyes closed in possible boredom.

"There is not much to say about our boy Holmes, but at the same time, there is not enough that can be said about 'im. He was unfailingly stubborn, incorrigible, and the most tenacious investigator in all my years. Though he wasn't an official officer, thank God." There were many light, somewhat cautious chuckles at that statement.

"No, he was too much of a rule-breaker. Head-strong, impulsive and pig-headed do too little to describe 'im. But what he lacked in cooperation, he made up for in dedication and commitment. But only in the line of duty, apparently. I've only heard too often of his reserved emotional status. Boy, would I have felt sorry for the lass that falls—er, fell, that is—for 'im. This world has indeed suffered a great loss—and mind." The inspector's voice had begun to tremble near the end of his speech, so he ended it promptly, and, clearing his throat loudly, gave the reigns back to the original speaker.

The speaker then continued to explain the circumstances with greater detail of the detective's death. He was surprisingly descriptive and began to speak quite enthusiastically and with what Madelyn could imagine, equal animated fervor. Holmes was quite entertained with the speaker's gusto at this point, as Madelyn noticed his mouth pull up into a smirk.

The speaker was interrupted by someone with a rather cantankerous clearing of the throat, implying that he move on. The speaker embarrassedly and quickly announced the final speaker of the ceremony.

"Ahem…yes…for our last eulogy of the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you all the deceased's oldest and dearest partner and friend, Doctor John Watson." There was a round of polite applause following his announcement.

At the mention of his oldest companion, Sherlock's eyes shot wide open and directed the gaze of his focus off into space. He stood up slowly, concentrating on only the doctor's words. Madelyn watched the man closely, and standing up as well, listened.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so number one, I did a little research for the location and whatnot of Reichenbach Falls, and since in the films they didn't really iterate in great detail about the summit and the towns around it, I made it all up. I know it's not the best.<strong>

**Number two, Sherlock's personality is REALLY hard to get right on paper (or screen). I'm not doing him any justice.**

**Number three, I'm still making the funeral stuff up completely out of my head, so for those of you who have been to Westminster Abbey and this isn't accurate at all, I'm sorry. I did my best to research it and make it as factual as possible, but there's only so much I can do from a computer instead of the real thing.**

**And number four, Inspector Lestrade is pretty hard to write for as well. Thanks for hanging in there and reading my crappy story!**


	6. Sentimental Send Off

"A few words may suffice to tell what little remains. Any attempt at finding the bodies is unfortunately, absolutely hopeless. And so there, deep down in that dreadfully churning cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time, the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of our generation. I shall ever regard him, Sherlock Holmes, as the best, and the wisest man whom I have ever known." Absolute silence followed the short and sweet oration, save for the sniffles and sobs of those deeply touched by his words.

Madelyn was incredibly moved by the literally and physically detached voice of the doctor. His voice had been guarded and monotone, so as to not give in to his overwhelming emotions of grief and loss. A few tears slid down her cheeks at the imagination of the shattered man who lost his bonded brother. Glancing at Sherlock, he remained staring into empty space, though Madelyn could have sworn his eyes were more watery than usual. At last he blinked and seemed to rejoin the materialistic world. Remembering that he still had her scarf atop his head, he removed it and gave it back to its owner.

"Thank you for allowing me to borrow your scarf, Madelyn." He thanked her half-heartedly.

She nodded in reply and began to wrap it back around her neck. But Holmes suddenly placed his hand on hers as she lifted the scarf upwards, while staring quite fixedly at her neck. She looked at him, puzzled at his sudden actions. Slowly, he raised his hand and traced the scar on her neck delicately, sending small but noticeably influential shivers down her spine. Madelyn's heart was beginning to race and she felt as though there was something humming in her very bones. She closed her eyes, which only seemed to amplify his touch as her senses focused less on sight. She began to feel a bit light-headed as her knees trembled, threatening to give way at any moment. Biting her lip, she wondered just what was going through Sherlock's mind.

As he had listened to the words of his dearest friend, something inside his head shifted, as though something had obliterated a rather sizable dam that had been holding back years of floodwater. All at once, Sherlock was assailed with emotions of every kind imaginable, which merged and blended into one emotion in particular that he felt at that moment for the girl sitting next to him.

With his senses sharply heightened, Sherlock had watched Madelyn begin to put her scarf back on, suddenly noticing a scar that ran down her neck and curved towards her collar bone. His eyes widened involuntarily and his brows furrowed as he stared concernedly, almost tenderly, at her neck. He hadn't noticed it before, because the scarf had obscured his vision. Swiftly, he stopped her hands from continuing to adorn the scarf, and raised his hand up to the skin on her neck. He gently traced the scarred skin and noted that even in its disfigured state, was as soft and velvety as the rest of her skin. She visibly shuddered, further provoking his sensual movements.

"Where…did you get this scar?" Holmes whispered, his voice saturated with longing.

Holmes was gradually moving ever closer to her, and when he spoke, the air from his voice threatened to tickle her ear. After swallowing a lump that had formed in her throat and wetting her lips, she responded.

"I…ran afoul with my old…employer." She murmured, opening her eyes with a flutter and turning to meet his intense, dark, russet eyes.

"How…unfortunate." Was all Sherlock managed to say before he could stand it no longer, and crashed his lips down on hers, enveloping them with an intense passion.

Madelyn gasped as his lips came down on hers, and after overcoming her initial shock, melted into lust and desire for him. He pressed her against the corner of the room as his hands cupped the side of her head, his fingers intertwining with the hair on the nape of her neck. She moaned softly, moving her hands along his chest, searching for an opening in the many layers of clothing he wore. She successfully found an opening, and her hands pressed anxiously on his muscular torso, with only one shirt between her hands and his bare skin.

His hands moved urgently down her back and he gripped her hips tightly, drawing himself closer to her body. She eagerly complied and was completely pinned against the cold stone wall. Remembering that they were in a church and in fact sinning in a house of God fueled both of their lust as they feverishly kissed. Sherlock groaned huskily and nipped her bottom lip gently with his teeth, and gently probed her lips with his tongue. Madelyn panted fervently and parted her lips cooperatively. Instantly their tongues began to swirl and twist together as they explored and tasted each other's mouths.

Their heated interaction was interrupted as Big Ben struck noon. The clanging of the bell resonated through both their bodies, utterly snapping them out of their lustful interlude as though God himself had interfered and scolded both for committing such sins in a church. Holmes broke their kiss instantly as the bell tolled. His head felt dizzy at the surge of emotions that occupied his mind for that lengthy moment of interaction. As the emotions slowly ebbed away and his logic rebuilt the dam that kept them at bay, he breathed heavily and cast his eyes at the floor as he ran his hands through his unruly hair. Madelyn shyly and slightly embarrassedly readjusted her clothing and smoothed her hair as best she could. Both their faces were flushed, and a short awkward silence settled around them.

Holmes was suddenly struck with both inspiration and realization of what the consequences of his actions meant. Taking Madelyn's hand gently in his, he waited for her to look up at him. At the feeling of his hand around hers, she lifted her head and allowed her eyes to meet his.

"Come with me. I have a favor to ask of you, my dear." Holmes spoke slowly and carefully, making sure to sound as aloof as possible.

Madelyn nodded voluntarily, and they made their way out of the abbey. Both of them glanced quickly into the now-empty chapter house, the atmosphere of which still lingered with despondency.

Madelyn was still having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that she had just been locking lips with the most inspiring and yet illogically unemotional man she had ever encountered. For one who is usually so detached from his emotions, he sure hadn't wasted any time at all revealing his hidden sentiments towards her in particular. Deciding that it be best that she drop the subject matter entirely for now and let things settle (or simmer, depending on his true feelings for her), she allowed Holmes to lead her away from the abbey at a determined pace. It would seem that Sherlock probably had the same idea in mind, for he spoke nothing of their encounter back within the place of worship.

"The favor of which I spoke of is exceptionally simple. All I require from you is that you deliver a package to my dear Watson—the man you heard speaking last at my service—at his home this afternoon. They should be preparing to leave this afternoon for a belated honeymoon trip, as their previous attempt was utterly foiled by the late Moriarty." He spoke rather quickly, as if he could hardly contain his excitement for the hidden agenda within his mind.

Madelyn wasn't going to refuse anyways, so she said nothing and allowed him to continue.

"But, firstly, I must ask. How convincing are your acting skills?" He asked unsurely.

"Wait a minute; I thought you said that this would be 'exceptionally simple.' If it were what you said it'd be, you wouldn't be asking me this at all." Madelyn objected, narrowing her eyes at the eccentric detective.

"Besides, Watson's never met me before, why would I need to do any acting?" She pointed out.

Holmes rolled his eyes before replying.

"Well, as true as that may be, I won't be taking any chances. I'm sure you'll masquerade quite adequately as a delivery boy." He let slip.

Madelyn's brows snapped together and her eyes widened in indignation.

"You want me to disguise myself as a _boy?_" She demanded quite loudly, earning a few puzzled and more than likely scandalized looks from passersby.

Sherlock shot back challenging glares to those who had glanced their way, while simultaneously taking a hold of Madelyn's wrist and leading her off.

"There's no need for you to be so defensive. You'll be in disguise for less than an hour. Honestly, is this really so much to ask?" He reprimanded her, as though she were a spoiled child complaining about not wanting to pick up her toys.

"Well, I suppose not…but I really haven't a clue how to behave like the opposite gender." She mumbled.

"It's not difficult, I assure you. And anyways, this will mostly just involve matters of your wardrobe." He commented casually, briefly recalling his experience of cross-dressing.

This brought a slight flush to Madelyn's cheeks and wondered just how experienced he was with disguises. For his cases around London that required keeping a close surveillance on something for a longer period of time, Holmes had many covert locations that even Watson knew naught about. The particular location he had led Madelyn to was only about halfway between the abbey and where he lived (or used to) at 221B Baker Street. When they entered the small room, Madelyn looked around observantly at the clutter. Holmes removed his bulky outer layers of his attire and stood in the room wearing dark brown pants with suspenders hanging lazily at his sides, and a stained white with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"Try not to touch anything, for all is in its proper place." Holmes deliberately announced as he closed the door behind them.

"Proper? There's nothing proper about this mess." Madelyn retorted lightly.

"Now then. Onto business. We need to find you an appropriately suitable outfit for my current endeavor." He began digging around in a large pile of clothes amassed on the small, creaky bed in the corner of the room next to an even smaller dirty window.

Madelyn tried to stay in the middle of the room so as to not disturb his organized chaos. As he dug through the pile, he began tossing a few articles of clothing backwards at her that she caught with some resentment. After he had finished poking around for clothes, he turned to look at her, inclining his head and tilting it slightly, examining her aesthetic appearance.

"We must do something about your long hair. No need to worry though, we'll only be concealing the length, nothing permanent." He added as her gaze bore daggers at him at the almost suggestion of cutting it.

He then turned to another haphazard pile of objects and pulled out a grey newsboy cap that could hold the bulk of her hair up within it.

"This will do nicely." He said, satisfied with the disguise he had chosen.

Madelyn stood at the center of the room and looked at him expectantly, with her arms folded across her chest, still holding the clothes he had given her. He looked back at her with a questioning look on his face, but then was struck with realization.

"Ah! Yes, sorry, you would like some privacy. Of course. I'll just be out in the hallway, then." Quickly he found his pipe and matches and exited the room to allow her to change in peace.

Madelyn sighed when she had the room to herself and began to strip the layers she had worn for so many weeks, leaving only her skin-tight undergarment that covered her nether-regions. She stepped into the tan pants that were slightly too big, cinching the belt tightly on her hips. Adorning first a baggy white collared shirt and then a similar grey one on top to ward off the cold, she tucked them into her pants. They were quite baggy, which was good for concealing her obviously feminine chest. She then put on the large black jacket and buttoned it near the middle and top. She shoved her feet back into her own knee-high black boots that she had already been wearing, tucking her pant-legs into them. Finally, she took the newsboy cap and, twirling her hair tightly and shifting it high at the back of her head, fitted the cap firmly over it. She looked herself over in the mirror and smirked. Clearing her throat quietly, she poked her head out the door glancing at the figure in the hall that was Sherlock Holmes, who stood smoking his pipe in the hallway. She then called out to Holmes in her most convincing mimicry of a newsboy.

"'Scuse me, govnah, might I trouble you for the time o' day?" Madelyn surprised herself at how easily she acclimated to the new personality she was to have whilst in disguise.

Sherlock turned calmly towards the sound of her voice and walked into the room to observe his handiwork. He smiled proudly, pleased with his creation. Without saying a word, he gestured with his hand a motion that requested that she turn on the spot so he could see her from all angles. She obliged and he was quite satisfied he had managed to somewhat hide her feminine beauty from plain sight (not an easy thing to do, he had admitted in his mind).

"Well, clearly my work here is done, and you're a fast learner." Holmes said casually as he rummaged around in yet another pile of clutter in the room, finally pulling out a brown package with many postmarks and stamps, which was addressed to Dr. John Watson in London.

"So, my dear, you are to deliver this package to the address printed upon it. You might need to hurry, I expect they'll be departing for their belated honeymoon around four o' clock." He said, moving in closer to hand the package to the incognito girl.

"As you wish, govnah. I'll get it to 'im in time!" She replied, still very much in character.

Sherlock chuckled at her enthusiasm as he gave her the package to be delivered. Making eye contact with one another, Holmes gazed perplexedly down at her and carefully tucked a loose strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear. She smiled timidly; her cheeks began to flush at his intimacy. Madelyn broke their gazes and tucked the package under her arm.

"Right, I should probably get going, then." She said, resuming her normal speech patterns.

Holmes had turned to face the small dirty window and shut his eyes tightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. Madelyn made to grab for her messenger bag when he spoke, sensing her movements.

"You may leave that here if you wish. I expect you'd be returning here anyways to report back to me…" He spoke quietly, turning his head only enough for her to see his face in profile.

Madelyn released the strap of her bag, nodding silently.

"Alright. I'll leave it here, then. Thank you." She replied, then turned and exited the room to make her way to the doctor's residence.

"No, Madelyn. Thank _you_." Sherlock said into the silence after she had left.

* * *

><p><strong>YEP I stole that eulogy right from the movie! Well, borrowed. I didn't want to try and make something up on the spot for Watson. That's too challenging for my writing skills. Really, this is terrible, why are you all reading this?<strong>

**AND things are getting hot and heavy between my OC and Mister Holmes~**


	7. Madelyn Masquerades

Madelyn decided to travel at street-level instead of the rooftops for her delivery, to avoid suspicion. She walked along quickly feeling quite determined. Other pedestrians didn't even give her a second glance in her disguise, which was just fine with her. She didn't like attracting attention to herself, which is pretty ironic since she usually travelled in a most unlikely place. Her destination wasn't too far away, and she made it to the printed address after about twenty minutes of walking. A carriage stood outside on the road, ready to be packed with luggage for their trip. Knocking on the door, Madelyn readied herself.

A very beautiful red-haired woman opened the door and smiled kindly at her. She was still dressed in a travelling coat, probably having just got home from the funeral service.

"May I help you, young man?" Her voice was very melodic and proper.

Madelyn had to stop herself from giggling at being called a "young man."

"Package for Dr. John Watson, mum!" Madelyn announced quite convincingly in a newsboy's manner.

Mary looked a little confused, clearly not expecting a package for her husband so close to their departure.

"Ah. Thank you very much." Mary said hesitantly while accepting the package from Madelyn.

Madelyn tipped her hat to the woman and turned to leave. Mary watched as she left, with a feeling of slight suspicion nagging at the back of her head. Madelyn quickly made her way out of sight, smiling at how easy that really was. She decided to poke around the area and see how things were going, now that temperatures had finally begun to rise and the snow was melting. People were emerging from their houses all around, eager to get outside and make the most of the sunny day before temperatures would plummet as soon as night fell. She had climbed up to the rooftop of a building just around the corner from Watson's house that overlooked a marketplace, and leisurely people-watched for about an hour. Yawning tiredly, Madelyn made her way back down to ground level to travel back to Holmes' secret lodgings.

It was getting dark quickly and Madelyn was beginning to feel uneasy about being on ground level. She had less than ten blocks to go, but decided she should travel by rooftop as a precaution. As she turned to go into a darkened alleyway, a very large, portly man grabbed a hold of her, dragging her further into the alley and pinning her to the wall. Caught off guard and petrified, Madelyn stared up at the familiar man with fear shining from her eyes.

"Well well, _princess_, I thought I'd never get to see the likes 'o you again." His rough and gravelly voice made Madelyn's blood run cold.

"Yes, and I had hoped to keep it that way…" Madelyn's voice hadn't trembled, but she knew he could tell she was terrified.

Keeping her arms pinned above her head with one arm, the man used his other hand to grab her face and turn it none too gently. He tutted mockingly when he caught sight of the scar on her neck.

"Now what low-life of a tosser gave you that unseemly mark?" He was clearly toying with her, trying to frighten her even more by dredging up even fouler memories.

"I don't have time for stupid questions like this, _Boss_." Madelyn spat venomously at her captor.

"Hey now, love, don't you fret. I'm a changed man. I'm much more of a _lover_ now than a fighter. And you, _sweetheart_, well…let's just say that time has been far too kind to you. But I don't think this…attire of yours is very becoming." His eyes flashed maliciously as he flipped the hat that had been hiding her long black tresses off her head and watched as they tumbled back to their full unwound length.

He then tilted her chin towards him with a sausage-like finger of his free hand. Madelyn's fear was overwhelmed with a spark of anger, and she bit down defiantly on the man's finger. He let out a yelp of pain momentarily loosening his grip on her arms. Madelyn darted for the street to find someone to help her, but the heavy man was quicker than he looked. A furious growl seethed from his throat as grabbed hold of her and yanked her backwards by her jacket, throwing her violently into the cold brick wall. Madelyn winced as the wind was knocked from her lungs and she slumped towards the ground.

The man grabbed her neck with his pudgy hand, pushing the side of her face into the wall causing small scrapes to form across her cheek. He was slowly cutting off her air supply and knew that if she fell unconscious, he would have his way with her and possibly worse. She felt his eager hand snake repulsively around her waist as he yanked her shirts free of being tucked into her pants. His hand was cold and clammy as it worked its way slowly up to her breast. Tears began to stream from Madelyn's eyes, feeling utterly helpless to stop this immoral man from his actions. She could feel herself begin to fade into unconsciousness as her breathing grew shallower under her former "guardian's" hand. Just before darkness fell over her eyes like a curtain lowered over a stage, she managed to whisper one word.

"_Holmes…"_

She suddenly felt the grip around her neck loosen and release as her captor let out a yell of surprise. She collapsed on the still-snowy ground, coughing and ravenously breathing deeply, filling her deprived lungs with the cold night air. She lay weakly in the snow as she watched two figures (the round, grotesque figure of Boss and a much slimmer, athletic build of her unknown savior) engage in a physical struggle in the small, poorly lit alley. Her rescuer paused and circled the gargantuan whale-of-a-man, plotting his next moves. Boss' large and heavy arm swung impulsively towards the more agile man, and suddenly through no more than five quick blocks and jabs from the targeted man, Boss fell to the ground with a loud thud.

She tried to sit up slowly, but the victorious figure came quickly to her side and picked her up gently, but hastily. Madelyn moaned quietly as she willed her eyes to come back into focus and see whose arms she was currently cradled in. The man hurriedly jogged back to the street and continued at a quick pace for about six blocks. They finally entered a somewhat derelict building and into a small, pitch-black room. The man carrying her carelessly cleared off a pile of clothes that had been piled on the bed and laid Madelyn down on the now vacated surface gingerly.

He then made his way to the opposite end of the room and lit a candle near the fireplace as he prepared to create a fire within it. The candle light was just bright enough to allow Madelyn to observe the room she lay in. She recognized it at once as Holmes' secret room that she had been in earlier that day. She turned her head to the hunched-over figure in front of the fireplace just as the fire began to burn and build into a larger blaze, giving the room a soft orange glow. Holmes said nothing as he poured warm water into a bowl and placed a clean rag into the water. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the bowl on the also now-cleared bedside table and wringing out some of the excess water from the rag.

With gentle hands, he cleaned her forehead and cheeks, dabbing delicately at her cuts from being forced against the brick wall. Madelyn winced as her cheek initially stung from the clean and warm water, but her face relaxed after a few moments.

"Thank you, Sherlock…" She spoke quietly as he put the rag back into the bowl.

He nodded, acknowledging her thanks. She sat up slowly so she could face him better.

"How is it you found me there in that…predicament?" She glanced up at Holmes, his expression unreadable, so she turned to stare into the fire as she removed the boots from her feet.

Sherlock cleared his throat before answering vaguely.

"It's complicated." He mumbled.

Madelyn furrowed her brows disbelievingly.

"Complicated for Sherlock Holmes? That's a laugh." She bit her lip after lightly snapping at him.

He sighed, somewhat frustrated at her prying.

"Do not joke about this, Madelyn. Do you even realize the great peril you were in earlier? That…that vile excuse of a man could have-" His sentence was cut short, and he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

* * *

><p><strong>BUM BUM BUUMMMMM. Bad things happen, damsel in distress, Sherlock saves the day. Not that original, but it's a fantasy I guess. Seriously, though, I'm pretty lame.<strong>


	8. The Past Comes Haunting

Sherlock reiterated his day after Madelyn had left in his head. Once she had left, he grabbed an oddly-colored article of clothing that rather resembled footy-pajamas and a matching mask and dashed out the door. He made his way speedily to Watson's home, taking several shortcuts and detours that got him to his destination in half the time it would take Madelyn. Remembering a few tricks Madelyn had used to scale buildings, Sherlock did the same, climbing to the roof of Watson and Mary's building of residence.

He entered an open window discreetly, which happened to lead to the bathroom. He grinned at the convenience, quickly stripping his current outfit and putting on the oddly-colored garment and matching head-piece. Waiting cautiously at the bathroom door, Sherlock listened for footsteps and voices. Hearing complete silence, he tiptoed carefully down the hall to John's study. It would seem that they were not yet home from the abbey, much to Sherlock's fortune. He entered the empty study and sat down on a plush chair that sat across from the desk and beside the fireplace. The peculiarly colored outfit blended perfectly into the chair that he sat in, and Holmes was quite pleased. Sitting pleasantly, Holmes waited for the married couple to return home.

Not three minutes later, Holmes heard the front door open and close, hearing the familiar voices of Mary and Watson. Watson made his way upstairs and immediately sat down at his desk, typing away on the typewriter stationed there. A knock sounded on the front door, and Mary went to answer it.

"May I help you, young man?" Mary's voice carried upstairs into the study, and Sherlock had to refrain from allowing his mouth to twitch upwards in a grin, knowing who was actually at the door.

"Package for Dr. John Watson, mum!" He heard the familiar voice of Madelyn, hidden beneath the speech mannerism of a newsie.

"Ah. Thank you very much." There was some hesitation in her voice, but she accepted the package nonetheless.

The door closed and Mary made her way upstairs into Watson's study.

"John, you really should start packing. The carriage comes at four and it's half past two already. It's going to be a beautiful week in Brighton." She said as she put the package and a few letters down on his desk.

"Mmm." John replied, barely glancing at the parcel and continuing to type away.

Mary looked at her husband nonplussed. He had been writing and hardly spoke a word to anyone since he had gotten home from Switzerland. She sighed and leaned down to his level as she stood beside him behind his desk.

"You know I miss him too, in my own way." Mary said in a saddened tone, looking endearingly at her husband.

Watson smiled fractionally as he finished typing a sentence on his typewriter.

"He would have wanted us to go to Brighton." Watson acknowledged his wife's efforts to cheer him up.

Mary smiled amusedly.

"He would have wanted to come with us." She pointed out, in an annoyed, but affectionate tone.

Watson smiled genuinely for the first time since Holmes' assumed-death. Mary turned and walked out of the study while asking behind her shoulder.

"When is Mrs. Hudson coming to pick up Gladstone?"

"Soon." Watson called out as she walked away, finally turning his attention to the parcel on his desk.

"Three o' clock." He added, more specifically.

The package revealed an intricately unique device that Watson recognized as Mycroft's personal supply of oxygen when he had been staying at the heightened altitude in Switzerland. Holmes had taken an interest to it the night they had discussed how they were to reveal Rene's presence at the peace summit. A sudden look of pure enlightenment crossed Watson's face as he held the gadget in his hand. Quickly standing from his desk, he made his way after Mary to inquire about the package.

"Mary, who delivered this package?" He queried, exiting the study.

"A delivery boy." Mary replied.

"Was it the usual chap, or did he look a bit…off?" He asked tentatively.

Sherlock slowly moved his head in the direction of the doctor's departure. Making absolutely sure that the doctor had left the room, he removed the head piece of his ingenious urban camouflage. Gladstone was laying in the middle of the study and at Sherlock's movement, stirred to look at him and growled quietly. Holmes assuredly hushed the dog, and Gladstone returned to his original resting position. Holmes made his way silently to the desk and skimmed quickly through the last paragraph. It was almost word for word the same eulogy Watson had given at his service. At the sight of the plain words "THE END" written at the bottom of the page, Sherlock smirked as he added a final punctuation mark that would invoke further mystery to his story.

Sherlock changed back into his more ordinary outfit and made a quick exit out of Watson's study window, traveling on ground quickly to see if he could catch up with Madelyn. He meandered in the crowds of people for a little while and sat and watched the marketplace bustle with citizens eager to be outside from being cooped up due to the snow. Sherlock watched the black carriage that had been parked outside Watson's home depart for the train station shortly after four o' clock. As he watched the carriage turn the corner by the market place, he glanced up to the roof of the building that stood there and spotted a figure dressed in tan pants, a baggy, grey shirt, and bulky black jacket complete with newsboy cap.

Holmes smiled in recognition of the girl who felt safe upon the rooftops of London, watching the restless people hurry blindly through the day, ignoring the calls of simplicity and becoming tangled in their complicated lives that were often filled with lies and deceit. He had to admire her unique way of living. She had managed to find a way to free herself from the dull and mundane lifestyles of the rest of the city and become a solitary, beautiful force to be reckoned with.

He watched as Madelyn gazed down on the marketplace as the sun was beginning to set and (most of) the people of London began to retreat to their homes and out of the biting temperatures of a clear winter night. She seemed to decide that it was also a good time for her to retreat out of the cold before night had completely fallen. She got to her feet and disappeared from sight for a short while, reappearing at street level, heading in the direction of Holmes' "hideout." As she worked her way through the small crowd of the marketplace, she closely passed a tall and rather round individual who took a sudden interest in her. Holmes narrowed his eyes as the strange man's facial expression revealed realization and knowing about the girl that had just passed him.

The corpulent man began to pursue her quietly, following her out of the marketplace from a distance, his eyes never leaving Madelyn's hidden feminine form. Sherlock's nostrils flared as he leapt to his feet and quickly climbed a building to follow by rooftop, to catch the abhorrently filthy-minded man by surprise should he attempt anything…unsavory. Just the thought of that overweight, lazy drunk laying his filthy hands on someone like Madelyn set Sherlock's teeth on edge. He could hear voices below in an alley, so he stopped to listen.

"Hey now, love, don't you fret. I'm a changed man. I'm much more of a _lover_ now than a fighter. And you, _sweetheart_, well…let's just say that time has been far too kind to you. But I don't think this…attire of yours is very becoming." The hoarse, raspy voice of Madelyn's pursuer shot through Holmes like a bolt of lightning.

He stared into the alley below frozen from the words that continued to echo in his ears. He was snapped out of his trance when the man let out a yelp of pain and Madelyn bolted for the street. She wasn't fast enough, though, as her assaulter yanked her backwards by her jacket, slamming her into the wall. He heard the wind get knocked out of her and she slumped down the wall. He began to climb down the building swiftly, never taking his eyes off of Madelyn. The fat man's hand was clenched tightly around her thin and delicate neck, rapidly cutting off her air supply. Holmes felt bile build in his throat as the disgusting man's hand clawed its way under the layers of her shirt and slide sickeningly up her stomach towards the supple mounds of womanly flesh beneath the cloth freed from being tucked in her pants. He saw the tears streaming from her tightly closed eyes, and silence filled Holmes' ears as the scene before him continued in slow motion. Her lips silently mouthed a single word before he knew she would lose her struggle entirely.

"_Holmes…"_

He pounced from a windowsill right onto her assaulter, catching him completely off-guard. He gave a shout of surprise and released his grip on Madelyn. She collapsed into the snow and lay still, breathing heavily. The fat drunk he began to fight was not a difficult contender. The swings of his arms were random and impulsive, which Sherlock quickly took advantage of. After circling him once and deducing a quick and simple series of hits to defeat him, he executed them with skill and his opponent fell with a dull thump.

Victorious, he turned without hesitation to the fallen form of Madelyn. He picked her up carefully bridal-style, making sure he had her securely in his arms before setting off for his surreptitious residence. She moaned softly in a way that bloody near broke his heart. He briskly jogged the last few blocks to the deserted building his small, single room was situated inside. He entered the room and impetuously swept all the clothing off of the bed and delicately lay Madelyn down upon it.

Numbly, he turned to the fireplace in the room and after lighting a candle, kindled a fire to heat the room and the water-filled kettle suspended over the now-blazing flames. When the kettle began to whistle, he removed it from the heat and poured a little water into a bowl and then soaked a rag in the warm water. He returned to Madelyn's side and placed the bowl of water on the bedside table. Sherlock deftly cleaned her face, being especially gentle on her cheek that had been scraped on the brick wall. She winced at first, but soon relaxed under his touch.

"Thank you, Sherlock…" Her voice was quiet and full of gratitude.

He nodded in acknowledgment as she sat up slowly to face him better.

"How is it you found me there in that…predicament?" Still feeling numb, his face remained emotionless.

She began to remove her boots as Sherlock cleared his throat before answering absentmindedly.

"It's complicated." He mumbled.

Madelyn gave him a look that she was not to be fooled.

"Complicated for Sherlock Holmes? That's a laugh." She snapped subtly at him.

He sighed out of frustration from her prying.

"Do not joke about this, Madelyn. Do you even realize the great peril you were in earlier? That…that vile excuse of a man could have-" His voice caught in his throat and he couldn't bring himself to even begin to think about what could have happened had he not been there to intervene.

* * *

><p><strong>Pretty much just the last chapter from Sherlock's POV. Whatevs.<strong>


	9. CounterProductive

Madelyn was overcome by his protectiveness. She was slightly caught off-guard by his sudden display of fondness, since earlier that same day they had both simply disregarded the fact they had kissed quite passionately in an abbey. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly, becoming acutely aware of the circumstances she could have been in if Sherlock had indeed not been around. She could have been defiled cruelly and mercilessly left to freeze to death in that dark alley. She felt so weak and vulnerable; her vision became blurry as fresh tears welled in her eyes and began to cascade down her cheeks. Burying her face in her arms, she wept silently as her independent façade crumbled from her recent traumatic experience.

Holmes said nothing and simply wrapped his arms around the broken girl, pressing his lips into a tight, thin line. The fire crackled in the background as Holmes attempted to soothe the new woman who had captivated his interest. Madelyn finally managed to calm down as the fire had begun to fade into glowing cinders that pulsed subtly as the remainders of the wood were consumed. She relaxed and leaned into the comfort of the detective's broad chest, his arm still around her shoulders.

Holmes smelled deliciously of tobacco and fresh paper, with a musk that was solely his own. Madelyn was blissfully swimming in his scent, feeling her own body respond in an animalistic desire for him. She innocently shifted to lie on her side and rest her head on his shoulder while placing her arm across his stomach. He tensed under her movement, groaning under his breath as she leaned on his injured shoulder (courtesy of the late Professor Moriarty). Madelyn gasped and sat up quickly at his quiet utterance of discomfort.

"I'm sorry…I…I'm sorry…" She whispered in a flustered way.

"No, no…It's quite alright, just my bad shoulder is acting up." He assured her, sitting up as well.

"I…perhaps I should go…" She stood and looked around for her own clothes, remembering she was wearing borrowed clothes.

She removed the large black jacket from her person when Sherlock was suddenly instantly behind her with his hands placed firmly on her shoulders. She jumped a little at how unyieldingly he stopped her dead in her tracks. She swallowed nervously as her heart fluttered at his objection.

"There is absolutely no feasible way I am letting you leave this room tonight. Not with that…bastard still roaming around out there." He said quite forcefully.

He turned her around to face him, her body silhouetted by the faint glow of the fireplace. Her silky, dark curls that framed her pale, porcelain face brushed against his hands sending sharp tingles through his senses. He could feel his hormones begin to affect him, becoming increasingly aware of her sweet, seductive pheromones clouding his head with all natures of thoughts wildly inappropriate for a man so hell-bent on keeping his emotions sealed away. Madelyn nodded in silent submission.

"Well, then if I'm to be staying here for the night, I would at least like to get out of these borrowed clothes." She commented, continuing to search for her own garments.

Finding her grey knee-length leggings she wore beneath her full-length durable brown pants, she turned partially to Holmes. He understood her unspoken request for privacy, but instead of leaving the room entirely, he simply faced the opposite direction from which Madelyn stood. Madelyn made no objections or complaints of his presence and unbuckled the belt on the tan pants she had been wearing. The moment the buckle loosened, the oversized pants slid over her hips and fell to the ground with a muffled swish. Without speaking a word, Madelyn stepped into her leggings and pulled them up carefully, adjusting them to fit properly on her legs and groin. She then began to lift the shirts over her head.

"You may keep the shirts if you like." Holmes said, breaking the silence.

Madelyn released the shirts from her hands that she had begun to shed from herself and the shirts fell silently back to their place, flowing silently around her slender torso. She slung the borrowed pants over Sherlock's shoulder (who was still politely turned away from her), signaling that she had finished changing. His hand moved up to remove them and he tossed them carelessly on top of the pile of clothes he had cleared off the bed, still refraining from turning to look at Madelyn. Silence settled in the room once again.

"Where would you like me to sleep?" Madelyn asked, this time breaking the silence.

Sherlock gestured to the solitary bed in the room.

"And where will you sleep? I can't imagine sleeping on the floor or a pile of clothes will be all that comfortable…or warm." She noted.

Holmes swallowed audibly and turned to face her for the first time since she changed. His eyes flitted down her figure, observing her toned and slim legs from travelling on her uneven terrain of rooftops. She was thin, due to the lifestyle she led, but not extremely so. Her feminine curves were hidden under the adorably oversized shirts that hung baggily around her. After a little while, he at last found his voice.

"We could share it. But we are to sleep strictly back-to-back." He added, setting some boundaries.

Madelyn agreed to the conditions as Holmes laid himself down first on the bed, moving to the far side and faced the wall. Madelyn climbed in after him, laying on the nearer side and faced the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. They had covered themselves with large overcoats, one for each occupant of the bed. The coats overlapped each other at the center of the bed so that they both had a portion of the other's jacket over them as well. The bed was rather cramped (a twin-sized bed was the only bed small enough for the room to have sufficient floor space), so even while facing away from one another, their backs were solidly pressed together as they lay silently, neither of them with sleep on their minds.

The tension in the air was so thick; Madelyn began to feel a bit claustrophobic at the persistent direct physical contact with Sherlock. She steadied her breathing as best she could, feigning sleep through her evenly patterned breaths. She knew that Holmes wouldn't be fooled by it in the slightest, but she was really more trying to enforce self-control on herself, restraining from acting on her still turbulent hormones.

Holmes shifted on his side of the bed. Madelyn could now feel his arm pressing on her back, and his gaze boring into the back of her head. She lay absolutely still as he continued to observe her through his entrancing hooded eyes. He shifted again and although she could no longer feel his arm against her back, she still felt his gaze intensely focused on her. Feeling audacious, Madelyn spoke quietly into the darkness.

"Mister Holmes, are you violating your own rule of sleeping back-to-back?" He seemed to be expecting her to speak as he replied with equal daring.

"Rules are always meant to be broken, my dear. And as you know, I'm a bit of a rule-breaker, according to the most inept law-enforcer in all England." He referred back to Inspector Lestrade's short eulogy they had listened to earlier that day.

Madelyn laughed melodiously and turned over on the bed to face him, since all bets were off, as it were.

"That's logical, I suppose. Old habits die hard and so forth. Though why you even bothered to set them when you intended upon breaking them anyways is beyond me, and, frankly, rather counter-productive" She enunciated each word carefully, smiling serenely.

"Mmm." Holmes agreed distractedly.

He tucked a strand of her curly hair back behind her neck, bringing to his mind the scar that lay on the other side of her neck. Madelyn shivered slightly at the caress of his hand on her neck.

"So…your aggressor from earlier this evening…I gather it that he is your 'employer' that you previously mentioned?" he approached the subject gingerly.

Madelyn nodded solemnly, her eyes averted as she recalled the events from both that day and the many years ago she had worked for him. She spoke steadily, which took a great amount of effort to accomplish.

"He raised troops of orphaned children as pick-pockets in return for shelter and not sending us to the work house. We were to give him our entire daily collection until we were adults and could fend for ourselves. I hated it. Even though our targets were incredibly wealthy and assuredly could spare some change, they weren't willing to. Selfish as they were, I never relished the idea of thievery to be my career path…" She paused, glancing up to Sherlock's sympathetic eyes before continuing.

"So, I managed to hoard some of the earnings I made every single day until I knew how to escape easily to the rooftops where Boss and the others couldn't follow me. But the night I tried to escape, one of his special underlings tipped him off while he was blindly drunk. In a rage, he attacked me with a broken bottle. That's where I got this." She pulled the collar of her shirts aside to reveal the whole scar that marred her skin.

"I escaped, obviously, but I never stopped dreading the possibility that I might run into him again around the city. I guess today was that day he finally caught up with me." She fell silent after her explanatory statement.

Madelyn tried to curl up defensively next to Sherlock, but he wouldn't let her (quite literally, as the bed was so small). Sherlock wrapped his arm around her waist gently, pulling her flat against his chest. Her head fit perfectly, tucked under his chin, as he ran his fingers through her surprisingly silky hair (considering the conditions she usually lived). He wondered the last time she had slept with a roof over her head instead of beneath her feet.

A calm silence fell around the couple in the bed, and soon Madelyn's breathing slowed as she dropped into genuine sleep. Sherlock listened contentedly for a while, comfortingly rubbing her back as she subconsciously snuggled closer to him. His lips curved into a small smile, and he pressed them simply to the crown of Madelyn's head.

"Sweet dreams, my dear." He whispered to the slumbering girl, before he too succumbed to a peaceful sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Le sigh. How romantic~<strong>

**So, yeah the whole romance thing has got me pretty damn side-tracked from the actual plot that I developed; hopefully I'll try and steer this back on track in the next chapter (dunno when I'll get around to another chapter-update, school's gonna be gathering speed pretty soon here).**


	10. Mon Cher

When daylight began to seep through the small, dirty window into the cluttered room, Madelyn stirred on the twin bed slowly becoming aware of the man that lay beside her. She studied Sherlock's serene sleeping countenance, gazing fondly up at his masculine jaw and the stubble that coated it. She gently traced his jawline and lifted a lock of hair from his face, tucking it back into the rest of his deep brown mane (which was rather unkempt from sleep).

She could hardly believe her luck; encountering the most renowned detective in all of London, and perhaps the United Kingdom, during quite a perilous time of her life. He had managed to save her from the disgusting man who tried to violate her, and provided her shelter from the freezing cold of a winter night. He was her knight-in-shining-armor, for lack of a better term. But she wondered how long it would last. He was known for his extreme mood swings and rather uncouthly honest personality, neither of which she had really witnessed so far in knowing him personally. It was only a matter of time before he would revert back to his comfort zone and unintentionally hurt her. She frowned solemnly, where exactly she would go from here.

As she contemplated her future (with or without the frustratingly charming detective), the man of her thoughts stirred. Sherlock blinked slowly as his mind became more vivid as the sleep wore off. He stretched comfortably, becoming aware of the woman pressed against him in the small, now cozily-warm bed. He peeked downward and his distant chocolate eyes met her dark, amber-flecked ones. As the morning light shone through the small window beside the bed, however, her eyes began to brighten to a rich mahogany and the flecks of gold glittered finely in the sunshine.

"Good morning, Madelyn. Did you sleep comfortably?" His eyes softened and warmed as she smiled up at him lazily.

"Yes, sir, I did. I can't remember the last time I slept in a warm, dry environment such as this." She commented offhandedly.

"Well, it's no Hôtel du Triomphe, but it's shelter from the cold at the very least." He glanced around the dismally run-down room, noting the water stains on the ceiling, the cracks littering the walls, and the plaster chipping off every surface of the room itself.

Madelyn shrugged and rolled her eyes at his pessimism.

"It's indisputably better than where I've ever had in my lifetime." She pointed out, reminding him that her status was about as low as it could possibly get.

Madelyn sat up (as much as she didn't want to), releasing the majority of the warm air that had collected beneath the two jackets that were draped over both of their bodies. She shivered as the cold air flooded in where the warm air had been, creating goose-pimples all over her skin. Holmes was displeased with the sudden rush of cold air as well, but merely folded his hands behind his head and watched Madelyn as she got up to put on more layers of clothes.

"_Mais sur__le côté positif,__vous avez__nulle part où aller__, mais en hausse."_ Holmes spoke clearly in his superbly fluent French (_But on the plus side, you have nowhere else to go but up_).

Madelyn just looked at him perplexedly over her shoulder as she picked up her brown pants.

"What did you just say? I'm afraid that even as intelligent as I manage to be from my own up-bringing, I don't speak that particular dialect." She replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, that is unfortunate. It is quite a useful and…universal…language." He conferred, continuing to lie nonchalantly on the bed.

"I'll take your word for it." Madelyn said, rolling her eyes at his overconfidence with the French language while putting on the pants she picked up from the floor.

He grinned at the advantage he would have her unfamiliarity with the "language of love." She tucked in her shirts in and folded her arms when she saw his smug grin.

"What?" She asked suspiciously.

"If you like, and ask me nicely, I _might_ be willing to educate you in that particular tongue." He offered, with a hint of coquetry, no doubt fuelled by his immense vanity.

Madelyn smirked and narrowed her eyes briefly, silently accepting his teasing challenge. She raised a single eyebrow and wetted her lips deliberately.

"I can think of a different _tongue_ I'd like to become familiar with." Her flirtation was bold and audacious, which caught Sherlock a bit off-guard.

He cleared his throat to regain his wit and composed himself quickly.

"Well, I don't see why I can't teach you both." He smirked, closing the distance gradually between them.

"Why must you assume that I need teaching in the latter?" Madelyn also began to decrease the distance between them, combing her black ringlets of hair out of her face with her fingers.

Sherlock's rich chocolate orbs stared intensely up and down Madelyn's frame. She closed the last small gap between them, returning his intense stare the entire time.

"But, I suppose I could use a little tutoring…" She admitted daringly.

Holmes quirked his eyebrows amusedly, the ends of his lips flashing upwards for a moment before his expression returned to its usual sobriety.

"Well then…let's have a lesson now, shall we?" He lowered his voice huskily, as his hands cupping both sides of Madelyn's face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Madelyn's face reddened with a light blush as butterflies took wing within her stomach, churning her hormones viciously and heightening each of her senses acutely. She could smell the tobacco that lingered in his breath mixing divinely with his unique musk, the combined scent of which she was quickly becoming addicted to. His soft touch sent tingles throughout her form, and prominently intensified her goose-bumps even further.

Holmes watched the young woman's face flush with color at his close proximity and touch. He marveled at her intoxicating smell; her sweet, floral aroma with a hint of earthiness and crisp freshness of snow clouded his senses entirely, prohibiting him from focusing on anything else besides her. He could feel the dam within his mind begin to vanish again, and tried to brace himself for the bombardment of bothersome human emotions he so desperately locked away, but to no avail. He was completely defenseless against the wild rush of hormones now coursing through his blood, urging and begging to be satisfied by the affectionate touch of a woman.

Without another moment's hesitation, Sherlock brought his lips against Madelyn's, gripping the back of her neck with one strong hand as the other moved to her lower back to bring her closer. Madelyn's eyes fluttered shut as she felt their lips meet for the second time in the past twenty-four hours. His facial scruff rubbed against her chin and cheeks, giving her skin an irritating, but pleasant itchiness. Her hands found their way around his broad torso and her nails scraped tactfully down his back. He shuddered under her hands and grunted pleasurably, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth before encircling them with his mouth once again.

Madelyn gasped when he broke his mouth away from hers and swiftly kissed down her jawline, bringing them to suckle on the silky flesh of her neck while also grazing his teeth skillfully against her sensitive scar. His hands were entangled in her hair, and he brusquely yet gently tugged it, tilting her head backwards to allow him further access down her collar. She moaned quietly, biting her lip and admiring his expertise in sensual and corporeal touch.

She tangled her own fingers within his smooth, flowing tresses, silently begging for him to continue. Since she continued to hold her head back for him to continue kissing her neck, his hands moved to the small of her back and pulled her hips to his, allowing her to feel the blatant evidence that their interaction assuredly affected him as well. Madelyn moaned again, but it was cut off by Sherlock's lips that had begun to crave the taste of her mouth again after sampling the velvety skin of her neck.

They remained entwined in a passionate embrace, lips locked in a heated frenzy, their tongues arguing with one another but speaking no words. It was Madelyn who broke their infatuated exploits, bringing them both crashing back down to the realism of their situation. Sherlock seemed to be having an inner-struggle with once again securing his emotions behind a thick wall, subconsciously deciding to allow an infinitesimal trickle of fondness for the young woman to remain. Sherlock cleared his throat nervously and began to dress properly for the day ahead. Madelyn followed suit, the remaining hormones in her blood stream ebbed away as she casually asked a question.

"So what is on your agenda today, Sherlock?" Her tone was innocent yet implying they stay together.

"Well, _mon cher_, since I am 'dead,' I would usually keep a low-profile, as it were. But with Watson on his belated honeymoon for the week, I don't see why I can't go out on the town with a lovely young woman." He caught on immediately to her implication, willingly obliging to the suggestion.

Madelyn smiled radiantly as she began to gather her clothes, trying to put them on as neatly as she could. When she had finished dressing, she stood before Holmes in her dark-brown pants tucked into her knee-high boots, with the white and grey shirts on underneath a darker grey pea-coat and her navy scarf wrapped around her neck, tucked carefully into her coat. Holmes himself was wearing grey slacks held up by suspenders over a (clean) white shirt, a solid dark evergreen ascot tucked into a patterned royal blue form-fitting vest, all covered by a navy waistcoat that fitted him handsomely. Madelyn's spirited smile dimmed as she watched the dapper man shave for the first time since, well, it was honestly quite hard to say. Sherlock could sense the mood in the atmosphere drop gradually and without turning from his grooming, inquired.

"My dear, why are you sulking? You were quite pleased a moment ago, what has brought about this abrupt shift of emotion?" His razor scraped efficiently against his weathered skin, slicing down the growth of hair on his neck and face, promptly revealing a much smoother surface.

"You said you wanted to go out on the town with a 'lovely' young woman. My clothes are far from that; I still look homeless despite how neatly I try to arrange them. You would look quite absurd with someone like me following you around, when you're dressed as dashing as you are now." She replied sadly.

Sherlock had finished shaving and turned his clean face to look at the timid girl that had sat back down on his bed with her messenger bag hanging limply on her shoulder. He wasn't about to give her a sickly-sweet, mushy, supportive pep-talk, but he couldn't just let her charmingly bright attitude snuff out at the simplest of dilemmas. Without saying a word, he grabbed a shallow, dark grey bowler hat and after placing it on his head, grabbed a hold of Madelyn's hand and stubbornly dragged her from the room outside into the snowy streets of London.

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><p><strong>Oh, Holmes. You dog, you. Sounds like Madelyn could use some cheering up, what're you gonna do about that? I feel like the writing of their romance is awkward and rushed, is it awkward and rushed? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT, GUYS. I can see it in my head, but being descriptive without being repetitive is so freaking hard…<strong>

**I promise the next chapter will have some more plot stuff. Please bear with me! Thanks for all the nice reviews, too. They're all so supportive and wonderful. I don't deserve fans like you!**

**Also, I updated the other chapters a bit so the POV isn't as confusing (hopefully). Thanks for the support, guys!**


	11. Wanderlust Wears

Madelyn stumbled along behind the detective into the snow-filled streets, wondering what exactly was in store for her. He strode determinedly down the sidewalk, bringing Madelyn's arm into his in an escorting manner. Madelyn glanced around cautiously at the people they passed as fears of encountering Boss or one of his underlings due to recent events were threatening to surface. They made their way towards a classier part of town, passing many elegant shops and boutiques in their journey. Madelyn was confused as to why they were even bothering with this part of town, she felt entirely out-of-place and these feelings were confirmed by the condescending frowns of other pedestrians around her. She averted her gaze and stared straight forward, clinging even tighter to Holmes' arm, who glanced at her soothingly after sensing her insecurity.

After a little while, they stopped in front of a small and stylish, but rather curiously-placed boutique. Sherlock smirked down at Madelyn, who had an expression of confusion plastered across her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at the boutique's name, "_Wanderlust Wears,_" then back at Holmes, and back again at the little shop. After a moment's passing, realization flashed across her face and her eyes widened and she stared disbelievingly at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, no, I do _not_ want you buying me any new clothes. I know what I said before, but I do not like accepting charity!" She released her grip on his arm and backed away a few paces.

He chuckled quietly and shook his head at her attempt to deter him from spending his money on her.

"With _no_ disrespect, my dear, I am afraid that what Boss said last night is quite true. Those clothes are entirely unbecoming of you and I insist that you acquire a new wardrobe at once. A lady such as yourself, despite your streetwise demeanor, deserves proper attire." His blunt remark pertaining to the encounter with the gargantuan man the previous night silenced her protests immediately, but her ambience became viciously dark.

She spoke through gritted teeth, her anger flaring and tears began to pool in her intensely focused eyes.

"So, you mean to suggest that I become dressed more properly as a lady so that _more_ men can gander at me and furthermore expose me to their lecherous advances?" Her hands balled tightly into fists and she was trembling slightly from frustration.

Sherlock was slightly amused at her misplaced anger, and attempted to reach out and place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She jerked back quickly out of his reach and said nothing, her lips pressed firmly together in a slim line.

"You know bloody well those aren't my intentions. And, as you may recall, I did say 'with no disrespect.' Besides, those men you so speak of would have to get past my boxing and martial artistry to even try to lay a finger on you. Now if you would stop your tantrum, we are also here on another matter. This shop happens to be owned by a friend of mine." He took a large step forward and laid a firm hand on her shoulder, ceasing her retreat any further than she already had.

Without waiting for a reply, he took hold of her hand and led her assertively into the shop. The little bell above the door chimed sweetly at its open, and the two figures stepped out of the cold air and into the dim, slightly musky shop. The shop organization was verging on cramped and cluttered, but nowhere near the messiness of Sherlock's degree. There were all sorts of foreign and exotic goods; clothing, books, decoration and gadgets alike. Madelyn's temper dissipated from her swiftly as she gazed upon the many curious and enticing objects. She took a particular interest to a thick, silver bracelet that was studded with bright bluish-green and subtly purple hinted crystals that lay in a display case inside the counter.

At the sound of the bell above the door, a woman's voice emanated from the back of the shop, the doorway to which was curtained with a heavy, indigo cloth.

"I'll be right with you. _Un moment, s'il vous plait._" Her voice was gentle and obviously French.

Sherlock watched as Madelyn admired the bracelet in the display case.

"Those gems are black opals. Quite exquisite, aren't they?" He spoke quietly to her.

Madelyn simply nodded in reply, continuing to examine the gemstones in the bracelet. The woman behind the curtain who spoke earlier entered the room after a short moment of silence as the two figures had stood in the shop. She wore a wide-shouldered floor-length dark red dress with a black pinstriped corset, giving her a wonderfully slender and curvy figure. Her body was decorated with multiple accessories; rings were on almost every finger, bracelets clung to her wrists, and necklaces dangled from her thin neck. Her dark hair had several random curls of dirty blonde colour and was slightly matted. It was decorated with various beads, and hung freely reaching almost to her waist. She had very tan skin, which appeared to be weathered from exposure to the elements for much of her life, similar to Madelyn.

Before Madelyn could observe anything else about the woman, Sherlock had dashed across the room and placed a firm hand on her mouth, using his other arm to restrain her arms close to her sides. The woman was completely overcome with shock as Holmes detained her deftly. Madelyn was appalled at Sherlock's actions and practically shrieked at him.

"_Have you gone completely MAD?_" She said shrilly as Holmes maintained his grip on the now-struggling woman.

Holmes merely glanced at her coolly and spoke in an even tone.

"Not to worry, darling, this woman is a good friend of mine. I merely wished to refrain her from reacting poorly to my unexpected reappearance." At the recognition of his voice, the woman in his grasp visibly calmed down, her pale green eyes becoming wide with mild fear.

Sherlock released his grip on her after she became still, and she took a step forward before slowly turning around to face the man she thought was dead.

"_Y-you_…How? I-I…this is…_impossible_!" Her healthy tan face paled starkly as she gawped wide-eyed at what she hoped was an apparition or mirage.

The woman continued to escalate into a state of near-panic, while Madelyn merely glanced nervously and rather lividly, between the woman and Sherlock. Sherlock, who had stood back to give her a moment to compose herself, could see now that she was not composing herself like he expected. He reluctantly spoke to try and calm the situation down, as the air around the woman buzzed with her outraged emotions.

"Simza, I know this is a lot to grasp, given the circumstances. But, I need you to remain calm for a moment so that I may explain this to the best of my ability." He looked at the woman through hooded eyelids, gesturing with his hands for her to settle down.

She hesitantly did so, easing herself into a comfortable-looking cushioned chair opposite the counter, continuing to stare at the living man in front of her (but should be dead). She was breathing heavily, and for the first time, glanced over to Madelyn, who was still nervously standing with her back pressed against the counter. Simza's gaze returned to Holmes as she spoke.

"_Comment diable es-tu toujours vivant?_" (_How the hell are you still alive?_) She burst out at him, her voice shaking slightly as she pushed herself out of the chair quickly towards the man standing in the middle of the shop.

"_Vous m'aviez__malade d'inquiétude__!__Après tout ce temps__, après __**votre enterrement**__,__vous êtes encore__vivant?__!_" (_You had me worried sick! After all this time, after __**your funeral**__, you are still alive?_) She rambled on, beginning to pace the floor and making wild gestures with her hands and arms, pointing accusingly at the detective.

Madelyn furrowed her brows together in confusion at attempting to comprehend the French language flying from the shop-keeper's mouth, which was sadly still foreign to her.

"_Si vous__calmer__comme je l'avais__dit plus tôt,__et permettez-moi__d'expliquer__,__tout deviendra clair, Sim._" (_If you calm down as I said earlier, and let me explain, all will become clear, Sim._) Sherlock shielded himself from the ranting woman by putting his hands up defensively in front of him.

Madelyn was becoming frustrated at being ignored and pushed out of the conversation, and was eager to get some answers herself, like who this woman is and why they were here (besides Sherlock trying to buy her new clothes).

"I hate to barge in on your little _re-acquaintance_, but might we continue this discussion in English, _please_?" Madelyn huffed, adding particular emphasis to her words, conveying her frustration.

The woman of Holmes' familiarity whipped her head in Madelyn's direction; her patience and tolerance for this situation was stretched unimaginably thin, verging on the point of snapping.

"You stay out of this, girl." She hissed in a thickly accented voice.

Madelyn scowled defiantly and retorted.

"_No_, I will _not_! You may have known Sherlock for longer and through more discord than I could ever imagine, but I know him now. I have every right to be included in your little _repartee_." Madelyn gathered herself to her fullest height, and steadfastly kept eye-contact with the fiery stare of the equally spirited and aggressive woman.

Sim snorted out of her nose and twitched her lips into a small smile.

"Found yourself a new _flamme_, have you, Holmes?" She turned her gaze back to the now well-groomed and properly composed detective that she was so used to seeing disheveled and covered with dirt and cuts from the trajectory of haphazardous shrapnel.

Sherlock gave Sim a stern look before pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Really, Simza, must you tease me? You haven't even allowed me to explain this situation." He moved to stand next to Madelyn near the counter, who was still irked about her recent treatment.

"I wish you would." Sim replied simply, sitting back down in the chair across from them.

Madelyn and Sherlock took a seat on the matching couch that sat beside the counter and also across from the chair Sim was sitting on. Sherlock wove his (and their) story of the past few weeks (and days) with his loquacious talents, being exceptionally detailed (minus their largely intimate moments) in his retelling. Madelyn made a few comments on her behalf during the narrations regarding her lifestyle and dodgy past, due to Simza's very peculiar glances in her direction. After all the happenings of their past had been recounted thoroughly, and most of Sim's questions had been answered, the three became quiet and the only sound in the shop was the ticking of a few exotic-looking clocks hanging on the walls.

Madelyn was gazing rather distractedly about the shop, to avoid looking at both Sim and Sherlock. Sherlock was mostly staring off into space with a pensive look about his face, occasionally glancing subtly sideways at Madelyn. Simza was staring at her feet, letting their words settle in. She then lifted her head and watched the body language of the familiar man and his new, peculiar companion, wondering just how much they had decided to omit from their tales.

"So, then. What is it that brings you both to my shop, hmm?" Sim broke the silence and both Madelyn and Sherlock started slightly at her voice.

Madelyn still didn't have the slightest idea as to why they _were_ there besides Sherlock trying to acquire a new wardrobe for her, so she remained silent and glanced expectantly at him. Sherlock sighed and cleared his throat before speaking, both pairs of eyes on him.

"We are here as to the inclination of a new set of finer clothes for this young lady here. Although she is being quite stubborn and is partial to the idea of, well, not getting any." Holmes smirked teasingly at Madelyn, who crossed her arms and legs grumpily, refusing to budge when both Sim and Sherlock stood to find suitable clothing for her.

Simza smirked at Madelyn, amused at her child-like behavior and refusal to be dressed properly. She also pondered over what Sherlock could possibly see in this urchin-girl who most likely knew nothing about the societal standards of higher classes. Ever since her brother was murdered at the peace summit for being "evidence" in the case against Moriarty (who left no loose ends), Sim felt as if Sherlock had made an exceptional replacement—no, not a replacement. No one could ever take René's place. Sim felt that on that day, she had lost one brother and gained another, who not long after, had tumbled over the Raichenbach Falls.

That day had torn her apart emotionally. And now that she had her new "brother" back, she could see a change in him as bright as this clear, snowy day. He was happier somehow, and less uncouth. This had no effect on his cleverness and aptitude for trouble, though, but he still wasn't the Sherlock she'd known. And this young woman had something to do with it. Sim was suspicious, and she decided to slyly question the girl personally, when she had the chance.

A chance soon became obvious when they had selected several dresses for Madelyn to try on. Sim would assist her with this in the back changing room while Sherlock waited out in the main shop. Madelyn was still stubbornly seated on the couch when they had finished selecting clothes. They had to pry her from the couch forcibly, and as Sim dragged her back behind the indigo curtain, Madelyn stared perturbed back at the tall and enigmatic detective. Sherlock simply smiled pleasantly back. The curtain was pulled shut with a muffled swish, and the two women disappeared from his sight.

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><p><strong>Hooray, it's Sim! I decided to bring her into the story somehow, even though it's probably too short of time for her to suddenly own a boutique in London. But whatever, this is fiction! Anything can happen~ I apologize if the French lines in this chapter aren't really translated properly (to those who speak French), I just used GoogleTranslate hahaha. Thanks for being so patient, readers! I've been busy with school, but I do plan to update this story still. Reviews are appreciated!<strong>


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